


A Happy Halloween

by Liondragon (Sameshima_Shuzumi)



Series: Spooky Offerings [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Costume Kink, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Kissing, M/M, Trick or Treating, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sameshima_Shuzumi/pseuds/Liondragon
Summary: Steve thinks he can handle trick-or-treaters at the Wilsons' all by himself.Until Captain America shows up to handlehim.





	A Happy Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> Friday the 13th of October — What can I do for this Halloween season that is terrifying beyond anything I've done before? Write some romantic fluff, of course. How OOC of me. If it is me. _The horror._ (Attention~ I'll stick it in this collection because I feel like it, but be aware those are mostly tricks, not treats.) Canon is not mine. Fanon does not denote endorsement of canon. The Wilsons are abroad dispersing rainbow glitter and/or exposed hashtags @ people who think a group of Black people is scary. There are no clowns in this fic. Edit: thanks all, because ChevyImpala1967 shot the 50th kudos. It's a sign!?

"Trick or treat."

Steve raised a brow. He rattled the peanut-free basket without pouring it into the Captain America's outstretched pail. The Wilsons' sealed chest of peanutty goodness and the fancy chocolate beckoned, but this fellow didn't seem like he needed the boost.

"Aren't you a little old for this?" Steve said, not for the first time that afternoon.

"That's possible." As the younger kids scattered to beat out the dwindling light, from under the box-store cowl the guy flashed a smile at Steve, bright as a punch. Before Steve could recover, he was crowding into the narrow foyer. "Hey, pal. Can I use the bathroom?"

"This isn't my house," Steve blurted out. He could smell something familiar under the candy corn and cinnamon gum but couldn't place it. More immediate was the fact that _Steve_ had been _pushed_ off his feet. Almost past the open entryway, under Sam's carefully cobwebbed chandelier. This close, the costume's missing padding was evident, and in its place the guy's own musculature filled it out, sewn to fit.

"Kids are gone," said the guy. He shrugged a shoulder, and Steve's enhanced hearing caught an unnatural creak. "Gotta be a powder room right here. You can crack the door if you want."

As one, they glanced at the shield leaning on the wall.

Steve had always been a terrible bluff at card games. He was already nodding in the direction of the washroom.

Without waiting for an answer, Steve was shoved aside again. The pocket door was opened, quietly, and the faucet turned on at full blast, and before Steve Rogers could put forth the considerate question of how long he'd been out in this chill, Bucky Barnes straightened in front of the mirror and removed his cowl.

Steve kicked the front door closed, and grabbed the shield. In an instant he was inside. The pocket door thudded shut.

He was aware that his jaw had gone slack. He'd never celebrated Halloween; a month ago he'd never have dreamed of enormous grocery stores stocking enough candy to feed a neighborhood of kids for a year. He hadn't been looking forward to the next few days' worth of cemetery visits, which was why Sam had invited him to his parents' and sister's place to... keep his spirits up.

He didn't believe in ghosts.

"Who the hell are you?" Steve said.

Bucky's hair was longer, tied up neat and braided as nicely as any of the cosplaying pirates out on the streets. His face was gaunt. His eyes were the same but his darting gaze was not. "Probably who you think," he said. This time he didn't lay a hand on Steve. The water was steaming up the mirror.

Then it was steaming up the metal on his left arm.

He'd used his right hand to hold the pail.

Steve remembered he was hanging on to the basket of sweets. He put it down, across from the plastic pail with Bucky's takings. He kept the shield raised as Bucky wiped the condensation off the mirror.

He had to get a grip. Officially qualified or not, for all purposes he was a SHIELD operative. One of the originals, if Nick Fury was to be believed.

In the face of no imminent explosions, Steve schooled himself. "And I'm supposed to buy you showing up wearing a dead man's face on Halloween?"

There was the shrug again. In the tight suit, the man's whole back seemed to ripple. "Who knows, I might be."

"You're not sure?" Steve realized. Maybe this was another veteran. Someone who needed more serious help than he or Sam. They could handle that.

"I don't remember it all," said Bucky. Then he said, "Memories have been taken out of me," and Steve had to remind himself that this was not his house, Sam and his family would be back any minute, he could not break these flimsy, glossy walls.

Bucky's gaze had gone distant, as though Steve ramping up for a fight was relaxingly normal. His voice meandered, scratchy, like he hadn't had much opportunity to use it for speech. "There's fragments of the retrieval. Getting picked up out of the snow. I don't remember the train. Not clearly. It's like it never really happened, no matter what the museums say." He glanced at the curving metal between them. "I do recall scooping that up. Lucky it went down with you instead of me."

That detail wasn't in any of the historical accounts.

"You shoulda never have done that," Steve said helplessly. Before he could stop himself, he added, "Though if you had, maybe the Allies—" would have searched for the shield, and found Bucky. _Alive_.

"Then I'd be an old man, or dead." Regret twinged across Bucky's mouth.

Steve couldn't help but put it together.

"Zola," Steve said.

Bucky flinched, and right then the blood that had rushed to Steve's face came draining out, and he was lightheaded, his vision blurred. From the tears, it turned out. Bucky was handing him some tissue paper.

Steve took it, though he squeezed it in his fist and instead brushed his knuckles across his eyes. The scene didn't change. He tried to think of all the tips he'd picked up for testing for hallucinations, and couldn't come up with one. "Bucky," he said. He was shaking his head.

"Freezing works on us," Bucky explained. His gaze wandered to the fogged up mirror. He wiped it again, a double squeak. "They outfitted me. For war. Their war. I don't know what all they put in me. The arm is the only part I can see."

"Who?" Steve said. Snarled. He was leaning in close, half aware that Bucky still was not touching him, was shrinking away. Was blocked off in a narrow space. Steve shuffled back a scant few centimeters, and ran into the door. "Did SHIELD know about this?"

"Got bad news, pal. SHIELD's dirty," said Bucky. He didn't wait to see how Steve was taking that. "Hydra's been running them from the shadows for years. Oh, your friends are in the clear. They're chasing their tails trying to dig out what's rotten. Not closely enough. When they keep an eye on you, Hydra sees. That's why I didn't contact you till now. Did my best to pry the trackers out of my arm," and they both looked down at the arm, a robotic arm, almost better than anything Stark had ever done. "Your friend Wilson asked Romanoff to make sure his parents' place was clean, so for now it's safe."

A fresh outrage boiled up in Steve. "You followed the Wilsons?" Sam was retired. His family were mostly civilians. And Bucky... whoever this was, radiated potential brutality with every breath.

Then the smile was back, definitely Bucky Barnes, except older and sharper and strangely luminous under the dimmed sconces. "I trailed Romanoff."

"She didn't mention anything to me."

"She didn't know." Now he did touch Steve; only a thumb to his carotid artery.

Steve recognized what Bucky was showing him. He'd lived through variations of this, through every escalation: the bloody fists, and the cleaned rifles, and now this.

_I'm dangerous now._

Steve swallowed hard enough for Bucky to feel on his fingertip. "But you're not... active. You escaped."

"I've been out on my own since they defrosted you—"

"That long? I would've come for you," Steve protested. The answering snort was too familiar. "I could've cleared my place, easy." Even the smallest bugs hummed to Steve's enhanced hearing. "Why didn't you...?"

"Sooner? I didn't know it was you." At Steve's indignant recoil, Bucky raised a brow of his own. "Hey, pal, between trips to the ice box and the staged disorientation, I woke up here same as you. I didn't know if cloning was that far along, or not." His arm dropped. "And you... didn't act like Steve Rogers."

Steve felt the shield falter. There was a faint clang as Bucky steadied it by the rim. 

"That's what they wanted me to do. They wanted Cap. There was..." In his duffel bag upstairs, there was a bag of crystal votives, for tomorrow's visitations and the day after that. He might need all week. "There was nobody else," he choked out.

Bucky looked away. "I heard about Peggy. Sorry."

Suppressing the urge to accuse him of sneaking around her too, Steve sniffled away the old hurt. They'd known for a long time that they'd come back with nightmares written on their faces. They just hadn't known the nightmares would last so long.

His mind jumped to the next move, lest Peggy someday chide him for getting diverted. "If they haven't caught you yet, they're beatable."

"It's not that simple." Bucky's brow creased. He was sunburned. "Hydra's not only in SHIELD. They're embedded in governments all over the world. And the _timing_. It stinks to high heaven."

"A set-up?"

"Us getting out at the same time could be a coincidence, or part of their plan. Zola's dead but they keep him in a box, or a vault, and his plans get more twisted up the longer he's loose. My being in the wind... might not be a notch for the good guys."

The creaking sound was the machinery of Bucky clenching his hand.

"You're here," said Steve, like saying it aloud would summon that last layer of reality he sorely needed. "I'm here. What do we do now?"

"You're the guy with the plan," Bucky quipped, and Steve couldn't help himself, he leaned in and brushed his lips across Bucky's cheek. He was bristled with a light stubble, the likes of which Bucky would never have abided before, even in the middle of a bombardment. Bucky kept talking. Kept still. Breathing and alive. Speaking into Steve's ear, he murmured, "I'd say keep your head down, lie low, it's worked for me so far. Except I don't know if that's part of their long game, and I've been up for days, weeks, wondering if they'll do to you what they did to me." Steve felt rather than heard the smirk. "But it seems like you're pissing them off enough that they might just bury a bullet in your head instead of going through the trouble. You're trouble, aren't you?"

From far away Peggy's lessons, and Natasha's curt directives, swam up to the surface. "How do I know you're not here to do that?"

"I don't," said Bucky. He looked at Steve like he knew he could stick a knife in without Steve so much as squirming. " _I_ don't. You need to gather allies. Do it fast. Romanoff's good; watch out for her lies, she does it to everyone. Wilson, he might be all right. Nice guy. Unaffiliated. I got some ideas about outfitting him so he can stand a little more of the barrage when you and your fancy saucer... inevitably draw fire." The shield had been shifted aside, they were pressed chest to chest in a way Steve had never experienced since they'd first matched strides, and the ledge of Bucky's lip where he'd balanced his cigarette felt windburned when they kissed.

Steve tasted saltwater taffy. And Bucky. The weird oilskin parody of Steve's costume rustled between them as Bucky's shoulders finally bowed down. Bucky's brow was warm with worry, from being under the cowl and waiting on Steve. The serum wasn't doing him many favors. Steve kissed what he knew now was freezer burn.

"I could go to Stark," Steve murmured. Bucky gathered them away from the door, to the strip of wall with some metal cut-out inscription on it, and Steve reached behind to take the sign off the hanger.

"Can't. Ask Romanoff, she's infiltrated his company before. SHIELD knows how." Thus Hydra knew, too. "They're using him. They've had years to perfect the technique. Same as me. Steve," Bucky said desperately, like he wanted Steve to stop, except he was wrapped tight around him and sliding army boots between Steve's house slippers, "I can't tell you this is me."

They breathed each other's air for a few precious seconds.

"Can I say I like the costume?" said Steve.

Bucky's smile caught on his teeth, and then he was catching them on Steve's lower lip. "You nut. That's a terrible line."

"I got... bad news for you, pal," Steve said, suppressing his own laugh. "About where I picked it up."

"There better not be clones," Bucky growled, and the squeeze of his metal hand was firm and cold on Steve's hip. "You are fucking compromised."

"Stay," Steve moaned quietly. "I'll hide you."

"First place they'll look." Despite the aggravation, Bucky kept kissing.

"Contact—"

"Watching you," said Bucky, and Steve lunged into a deeper kiss.

With a thump, Bucky all but headbutted him back into the door. Steve saw stars. "Can't you contact Nat?" he gasped. The tiny room was beige. The costume was a blot of vivid blue in the middle of it. "I'm sure... she'd understand."

"Might be better if you break it to her." Bucky paused for breath, long enough for Steve to study his face. "Last time I saw her, that I recall, I put a bullet through her gut. Right here."

Steve felt a pointer finger on his side. He felt it like a burn. "That's bad."

"She's lucky to be alive." Bucky met his gaze, and Steve knew. He had to go soon. "Do me a favor," said Bucky. "Make sure I'm dead."

Steve crumpled. "I'm not going to fight you, Bucky."

Bucky's lips were chased with dark amusement. "Oh, you will. I'm a helluva southpaw now. You ever square up with me, you better not hold back. I won't be pulling my punches. And I might not be... myself."

"That won't—!"

"Not in the field, I was meaning the red tape. Records at city hall."

Steve blinked. "You want to be dead on paper?"

"Not that anybody uses papers anymore, everything's online now. I've got some assets set up. You're the primary beneficiary. And there are other reasons. I've thought about this—" he said, once he saw Steve winding up to object. "It's for the best. Easier for a dead man to hide. Get Romanoff to help you, she can handle that stuff."

Steve was nodding, and not only because Bucky was slyly copping a feel. "You sure about her?"

Bucky was. "You always know that look. Of somebody who's come out of the cold." 

Bucky was staring at him like he was looking into a mirror.

"I have access," said Steve. He raised his hand slow, as though he actually had a chance to stop Bucky from leaving, and when Bucky nuzzled the side of his palm, he dared to bury his fingers in Bucky's hair. "I can poke around."

"Don't," said Bucky shortly. He had stilled under Steve's stroking fingers, but he wasn't pulling away. "You'll give it away. Not nearly enough backup. Don't trust comms even if they say it's encrypted. Don't sneak, do everything out in the open. Don't be alone with any of them. For once," he said, chin lifting, "Do as you're told."

It was Steve's turn to snort derisively. 

"Only as far as it'll convince them," said Bucky. "Wrapping up my affairs, that's a story that'll hold water. Moving on. Making new friends."

"That's only half right," said Steve.

Bucky kissed him. 

Somehow Steve still had a hold of the shield as Bucky manuevered him to switch places at the threshold. Steve was giddy like he hadn't been since the serum had flooded his lungs with oxygen and his vision with color. He stole another kiss. _Bucky was kissing him back,_ he thought, and he stamped that into his mind and willed his overwhelmed senses to record every detail of that thrill. When at last he made himself retreat, Bucky's cowl he tugged along with him; Steve smoothed the mask over his cheekbones. On cue, for the thousandth time, Bucky peeked over Steve's shoulder to check his image in the mirror.

Bucky turned off the water with the same metal hand.

Cold guilt washed over the giddiness. Steve's shoulders hunched. "Bucky— we didn't do this before."

He'd been lucky to have him as a friend. He'd never considered Bucky giving him the time of day like a regular fella. It would be unthinkable to sucker him into this.

Silently Bucky cracked open the pocket door. "I can tell," he said. "You are positively _terrible_ —"

Steve cupped his jaw and pressed his smiling face into a kiss to prove him wrong. They took turns kissing and clearing the vantages of an ambush, or whatever else might come at them. Eventually their bodies wedged the door ajar.

Then Bucky stepped away. The drafty gap between them felt like a chasm.

"Look, we're gonna have to... go slow," said Bucky quietly.

Steve's eyes felt like dinner plates. Bucky was alive. They would be stepping out. Dating. Like regular people.

Keeping one step ahead of Hydra, but that wasn't new.

"...Of course. Yeah."

"Just..." Bucky stuck to the wall and, eagle-eyed, scanned the Wilsons' front yard. "Go look up lubrication. Not the machine kind, I've got plenty of that. Oh," He raised a hand. "Hang on, you can't search it online. Pick it up in person. Depends on the drugstore, sometimes it's locked up tighter than the booze. You're gonna have to walk up and ask somebody."

Steve's face was on fire. " _Bucky._ "

"Pay cash. Stick it under your mattress like the old days." Bucky's grin was devilish under the Cap cowl. "Don't look so sour, sugar. Neither of us can catch VD."

Steve rolled his eyes. He dumped the rest of the candy into the plastic pail. "Don't forget your candy." A couple of round jawbreakers escaped to bounce on the rug and roll away.

"Who needs treats?" Bucky's grin simmered.

"Buck," Steve said, abruptly somber. "You haven't missed a winter with me yet."

Not really.

Bucky looked back at him through the familiar eye-holes. Then he was gone.

Steve stared out the open door as every house's automatic lighting switched on in time for dusk. He knew that look, too. Bucky wasn't a man who made many promises.

Just the one.

He went back to the powder room to check for broken skin. Sam's sister had left out the vampire make-up, and it might come in handy.

 

+

 

"Rogers! You better not be beating off in my mom's bathroom!"

Sam's sister broke out with a wisecrack, which was futilely muffled.

"Sorry!" Steve called. "I ate the rest of the candy." He scrubbed at the mirror again. He had yet to find any tell-tale traces that anyone else had been there, and most certainly not any surveillance devices. Even on his person, after a fair bit of contorting in front of the mirror. If Natasha had really cleared the house, she'd find any he'd missed. And then he'd have to explain it to Natasha. He was going to explain it to Natasha. Just not right now.

"Steven Grant Rogers! We left you in charge. You didn't eat the candy apples, did you?"

"No, sir."

"Likely story. What else did you eat, if you didn't touch the Peanut Booty?"

"I'm refusing to call it that!"

"Dad, that's asking for a smack of glitter."

"My own daughter fixing to glitter-bomb Captain America. I'm so proud."

"Pick a color of glitter!" Sam called. He pounded on the door. "We got a vacuum cleaner for Christmas last year and it needs testing. Steve, that's enough time to get your tighties back on. Do not use my sister's wifi to check your porn, man."

"I dunno, Sam, you forgot to clear your browser history!" Steve called back. 

Sam shrieked. "Dude, don't scare me like that!"

"Halloween scare!" his sister yelled from deeper in the house.

He succumbed to another burst of frantic searching just as Mrs. Wilson demonstrated that as home-owners, they had keys to every door in the house.

"I know you're not encouraging my sugar-addled children to holler in the house," she said.

"No, ma'am. I mean, yes. Ma'am. I mean, Darlene."

She looked at the inspirational wall-hanging which Steve had overlooked on the vanity top. Under her unwavering gaze, Steve hung it back up.

"There's candy all over my hallway, Captain. Pick it up or eat it."

"Yes ma'am, sorry about that. Darlene."

She regarded him again. "On behalf of your departed mother, I am not going to ask."

"Probably for the best," said Steve, exhaling. Only to be jumped by Sam, who might've had too many Skittles.

"Double-time, my man. The cousins are coming over. We're gonna heat up the cider, and smarten up a horror movie. As in, yell at the fools running into the creepy house." 

"Sounds like fun," said Steve, hoping their little scuffle wouldn't reveal his and Bucky's... scuffle.

Sam took a second to size him up. "Long day, tomorrow. You sure you're up for it?"

"I'll be fine tomorrow, Sam. Honest. Actually I might, uh, get some of my affairs in order—"

"That's not morbid."

"I mean, because they thought I was dead, some of the legal stuff's a mess. I should get that ball rolling. Set some appointments."

There were florists that sent fresh flowers every month. Steve could have them delivered through the winter. Maybe every week. They'd be ready for Bucky if he dropped by. The sausage of the month club could wait till they got serious. Or got to second base.

"Cool, cool," said Sam. His eyebrows were doing the thing. "So which was it?" he asked. "Trick, or treat?"

Steve felt himself truly smiling for the first time in ages. "How about both?"


End file.
